The Kumquats
by Dr FooFoo
Summary: So, why is your band called The Kumquats? [NickGreg]


**Title:** The Kumquats  
** Author:** Dr FooFoo  
** Fandom:** CSI  
** Pairing:** Nick/Greg  
** Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** washroomsex D:  
** Feedback:** Review or e-mail (in profile).  
** Notes:** DJ Greg stolen from... someone's fanon.

* * *

Standing outside for an hour on a cool, windy Vegas evening is not the way Nick usually spends his time away from work. Really, it isn't, but apparently it's how Sara spends hers, because she's standing beside him, shivering a little, but grinning like a kid on her birthday, and Nick can't help rolling his eyes at how excited she is for this concert. She'd said that she knew some people in the bands playing tonight, though, so Nick understands. Sort of, and what kind of a name is The Kumquats, anyway? It doesn't really matter, though, because finally, they're being ushered inside by seedy-looking skinny guys that _can't_ be bouncers, and Sara immediately takes a place by the stage, dragging Nick along behind her. 

The first band is young and far too loud for Nick's taste, and they have a tap dancer and that just freaks Nick out for some reason. Sara makes it very clear by her screaming and grinning that she's either heard the band before or knows someone in it -- probably the tap dancer by the looks of her, but Nick's not one to make judgments. It takes forever for the band to finish, and Nick's practically asleep against a pillar when the final cheering starts.

He rolls his eyes again when Sara screams like a teenager. It's just a band, after all, and they're not even that great -- Nick doesn't think so, anyway -- and even if it were Pat Benetar or someone, he doesn't think he'd be cheering as loud as Sara is now. Nick almost forgets why he let Sara convince him to come to this sleazy little club anyway, but then he recalls the casual invitation in the locker room, and the promise that he wouldn't regret it. He's almost starting to when Sara leaves him alone by the stage to go and get another beer from the bar, but then a familiar pair of sneakers appears in his line of vision, and he looks up, past dark jeans and a crazy t-shirt and green jacket, to a face he often sees in his mind when he's alone at home in bed.

"Hey, Stokes."

And Nick suddenly feels light-headed. Maybe he should have expected Greg to be in a place like this, but it still catches him completely off guard, and he hates that he gets like this around Greg. After clearing his throat a few times, he manages a weak hello and Greg's grinning that wolfish grin, and Nick silently wonders how long it'll take Greg to notice he gets completely hard every time he sees it. Just then, Sara comes back, smile getting bigger when she sees Greg. She hands him a beer that Nick can only imagine was originally for him, but suddenly it doesn't matter anymore, because Greg's lips are on the edge of the cup and he's all Nick sees; pale expanse of his neck smooth in the soft light from the stage.

The sharp twang of an electric guitar right next to his ear makes Nick wince, and draws his attention from Greg's mouth, and how soft his lips look, and how he'd do just about anything to feel those lips on his overheated skin, and there he goes again. Greg moves to climb on the stage, and Nick must be crazy, because he could swear he felt Greg's hand on his ass when he brushed past. He eyes Greg on the stage, anyway, and -- wait, Greg on the stage? Nick looks, confused, at Sara, and she's still grinning and drinking beer, but when Greg takes his place behind a big set of turntables, Nick understands. He never would have guessed _this_ as the way Greg spends his nights off, but it's kind of hot when he thinks about it -- becomes even more so as he watches Greg warm up, fingers flying from button to button and twirling knobs, and Nick can only imagine...

The lights flash and a guy who looks vaguely familiar to Nick grabs the microphone and says something incoherent, then starts singing in a low, smooth voice, and Sara leans into Nick's space to tell him the singer's a tech from days, and that makes sense, so Nick tries to focus on the music (which isn't all that bad anyway). It's _hard_, though, because his eyes keep wandering back to Greg and the way he unconsciously sings random words, and how his eyes are closed, and that little bead of sweat dripping down his cheek, and...

Jesus.

Nick's eyes drop unconsciously to Greg's crotch, and his breath catches in his throat when he realises Greg's hard, and _why_ didn't he realise that Greg spinning records would be so hot? If he'd known, he would have agreed to go to all the concerts Sara's tried to get him to go to all those times. The song takes _forever_ to finish, but finally it does, and Nick finds himself clapping along with everyone else. Sara elbows him in the ribs and reminds him of her 'not regretting it' promise, and Nick can't help nodding a little and agreeing in the back of his mind, but then Greg's band starts up a new song and this time, Greg's staring right at Nick, and Nick forgets all about regretting anything.

It seems like an eternity of loud, slow music and bedroom eyes aimed at Nick, but finally the guitar fades away and the cheering subsides and turns into a quiet buzz as people head home or to the bar, and Greg hops down from the stage. Sara shrieks something about the show being awesome and Greg's grinning again, but he's not looking at Sara, and Nick feels the familiar old Texan blush spreading up his neck again.

He's totally fargone, but he hears something like Greg asking him to come and help him clean up in the washroom, and he's moving before he knows what he's doing. Sara gives him a thumbs up before heading back to the bar, and dammit, Nick can't stop blushing. He knows Greg's noticed it by now, too, because the second they're in the washroom, Greg shoves Nick into the nearest stall and against the grimy, graffiti-caked wooden wall.

Nick grunts ungracefully and Greg's lips are suddenly on his neck, sucking marks Nick's never going to be able to get rid of, but those lips are still so elusive and Nick just needs to _taste_. He gets a chance when Greg presses himself flush and gasps softly, but it's hard to fully enjoy kissing Greg when he's so desperate like this, only stopping to shrug off his jacket and toss it over the back of the toilet. Not that Nick's complaining -- actually, he's doing pretty much nothing except rubbing on Greg. Not even thinking, and when Greg's hands fumble with the zipper on Nick's jeans, he hardly even notices.

Definitely notices when Greg's warm hand is suddenly down his pants, though, and Nick has to brace himself against the wall to keep from collapsing. It's so hard, though, especially when Greg's kissing his neck again, and then a line down to his collarbones. Nick's hands drop to his sides and land on Greg's hips where they stay -- at least for a moment, before Greg drops to his knees and pushes up on Nick's shirt and down on his pants, and Nick can't believe this is happening to him. He's had dreams like this for months, but he never thought it would actually happen, especially in a dirty stall in the washroom of a nightclub off the strip. It's probably ruining his shirt, too.

But then Greg breathes across Nick's crotch and Nick forgets all about dirt and his shiny designer shirt and everything else except Greg's lips and now he'll never be able to hand off DNA samples without getting a hard-on. And that's really going to look suspicious to Grissom, and even Warrick, but Nick's way past caring at this point, because Greg's licking and breathing out across Nick's stomach and he just. Can't. Think.

Nick's hands wander along Greg's shoulder to the back of his neck and when Greg swallows hard around his cock, Nick's fingers tangle in spiky gel-tipped hair without abandon. He doesn't think he's ever felt anything this good in his entire life, and he groans softly, trying to let Greg know, but Greg eyes him and silently tells him to be quiet -- Nick remembers where they are and abides, but squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth instead.

It's over way before Nick's ready, because he feels the familiar energy pooling in his groin and it makes his legs tense up when he comes hard, and lets out a long, low sigh. Nick officially can't feel his legs anymore, and lets his head clonk back on the stall wall while Greg tucks him away and slides up his body carefully, and Nick still thinks he's dreaming because that? Did not just happen to him. It can't have, but Greg's kissing him again and Nick can taste himself and it rockets him back to reality and Greg's needs.

Nick tries several times to mumble something about repaying the favour, but Greg shakes his head and leans in to whisper that his apartment is a much better idea. More comfortable, too, and Nick silently wonders how long Greg's been planning this. It doesn't matter, though, because Greg's grabbing his jacket and tugging it on, and his jeans are still suspiciously bulging, and he's leaning in to kiss Nick's neck again.

"So, why is your band called The Kumquats?" Nick asks drowsily, and he doesn't really care, but he needs to say _something_ and he wants to hear Greg's voice anyway. Greg just murmurs something about leaving it up to Nick's imagination, however, and nibbles on his earlobe for a second before leaving the washroom stall.

fin!


End file.
